July 20th was my favorite summer day of 2019.
It was also one of the hottest days of the year.
Baltimore Sun, 1977
I caught the bus up to the Avenue and I met up with Melissa from WYPR along with their high school intern. I stood in the slight shade of the church by the snowball stand and did my best to not sound like an idiot while being interviewed. The sweat running down the back of my knees was tickling me.
They bought me a snowball, recorded the sounds of the ice machine for the radio.
I missed my bus to Highlandtown so I walked down to Chestnut for fun, waited for the next bus with other hot people, eavesdropped on window-shoppers admiring vintage sunglasses. Watched customers line up for ice cream.
The sweat continued and I resisted the urge to reach down and touch my legs.
When the bus arrived, it was an air-conditioned heaven, and all the city was on display from my window. I counted seven snowball stands along the way. All the colors of syrup lined up.
I watched more hot people out and about on 25th, then by the hospital, past my old work, past Northeast Market, places I once knew well, down into Highlandtown.
I got disoriented and walked extra blocks before I got to the market and stocked my cooler bag full of sausages and cheese.
Afterward, I walked up Eastern and met Chris for ice cream before he headed home on his bike.
It was starting to cool down just a little as I waited for the bus home in the corner of Patterson Park. Mosquitoes bit me, I would later find out. But I sounded alright on the air.
I was so grateful that I didn’t let the heat stop me from trekking around the city.
I knew the day felt special but I had no idea just how haunting and untouchable it would feel one year later.
